Sherlock Belong
by My Benediction
Summary: Wanted to do a prompt story, this is based around Taylor Swifts song You belong with me. Sherlock doesn't like Sarah and wonders why John is with her. Can Sherlock woo John or will Sarah steal him away? Fluffy smutt, rated M for M/M sex.
1. Chapter 1

New day, new story. Well, I've been tapping this out my iphone on and off for months. So my prompt is You belong with me by Taylor Swift. I'm putting an M on because there are mentions of naughty M/M actions in later chapters and although I was going for fluffy it will no doubt end in debauched glory. I can't help myself and I haven't written it all yet.

So warnings.. Fluff, M/M fluff, M/M sex seems likely, probably mostly vanilla, but we'll see when the time comes.

Contains the F-word and bloody british curses.

Please review, you know I love it so. It is my second fave thing in the universe.

I hope you enjoy.

Belong - Part 1.

"Your on the phone with your girlfriend she's upset. She's going off about something that you said, 'cos she doesn't get your humor like I do"

It was a dull and rainy tuesday evening and inside 221b Baker Street consulting detective Sherlock Holmes lay on the sofa. His hands clasped in a prayer position, fingers against lips, eyes closed. His hair spilled wildly over the union jack cushion his head rested against. His pajamas were rumpled as he hadn't bother to change them today and over them his blue silk robe clung lovingly to his contours.

In his head he was pretending he was meditating on a case, but in fact he was secretly listening to the phone call that was going on in the kitchen. Perhaps 'going on' was the wrong phrase. Perhaps going off was a better description of it.

"Sarah, I'm sorry about last night. I didn't mean anything... No, you took it.. No Sarah if you'd just let me finish! I thought maybe Sherlock would be interested in using her to test out his whip on because she upset you... I was trying to make you laugh, you took it all the wrong way." a pause. "What? No, of course he's not!" Sherlock heard, if not felt, John Watson look quickly around the kitchen door in his direction. He was presumably checking that Sherlock wasn't listening, and John being John he presumed wrong.

"He's in his mind palace..." John continued in a slightly lower voice, but one that was no less injured "I doubt he's even aware that I'm here, never mind our... Right..." the argument continued, Sherlock rolled his eyes upwards beneath his lids but continued his steady breathing and stillness. Part of him wanted to chuckle at the absurdity of it all, part of him felt sorry for John and the way he stumbled blindly onward in a obviously failing relationship and then another part of him just wanted to get up, take the phone from his distressed friend and kiss him until he forgot all about it. The third was the most appealing in Sherlocks view. He wasn't sure as to if John would agree, but one thing was most certain, he'd certainly be distracted one way or another.

Ever since Sherlock had first set eyes on John, that fateful day at Saint Bart's, he had known that things were going to and had changed. He had changed. He denied it of course, even to himself, for a long time. But John had crept under his skin, into his mind and he couldn't shake him out. Sherlock had that creeping suspicion that a chemical reaction had taken place that day, when Johns eyes had met his the first time. The reaction had been compounded when John had first had dinner with him. Sherlock had, at the time, shrugged off Johns apparent interest in him.

Idiot.

And then Sherlock found himself laughing with John, that first time. Leaning against the wall, really laughing. "and you invaded Afghanistan" ... Sherlock couldn't recall ever laughing like that. Not as a child. Not as a man. He had never had a friend. No one to laugh with. Then suddenly, so comfortably he was laughing. Before he knew it John had saved his life. Had killed a man. For him. When John's eyes had met his over the police tape after 'a study in pink' The detective had been jolted out of his comfort zone. The place of no emotion was gone. The candle he was now holding had been sparked into unsteady, flickering life.

Sherlock remembered it well. Like a video tape in his head that he couldn't record over... He was being so clever, blundering on like an idiot. Why on earth would he have known? There was Lestrade frantically writing down the gunman's particulars... And then suddenly John's eyes caught his, and Sherlock had stopped, stammered. Stuttered. Made up a lie. And...

"dinner?"

"starving."

Damn chemistry.

It wasn't something Sherlock dealt with well. It took him a long time, even after he knew. After his body betrayed him. After his mind brutalized him by refusing to let go if the idea. Even after the first time he had whispered Johns name in a moment of private ecstasy.

Then one day John came home from that interview and Sherlock knew that John hadn't only taken the job for the money. He had realized quickly he needed to deal with what had become and just as he was accepting what was happening to himself John bounced through the door declaring he had a date.

Damn Feelings. Feelings of want. Of need.

Want John Watson. Want. Want. Want.

Too late. But isn't he mine?

Mine.

Sarah had hung up it appeared. John slumped into the living room putting his phone down with meaningful force on the table. Sherlock cracked his eyes open an little to watch John run a hand through his hair, the way he always did when he was frustrated. His brow was creased, his eyes dull. They caught Sherlocks.

"I suppose you heard all that?" Sherlock decided it was best not to answer. John took that to mean yes, which of course it did. John shook his head a little and vague smile cracked his face. He rolled his eyes. Sherlock shifted, sat up a little. Stretching he grinned.

"I would say in the future John it would probably be in your best interest not to mention my riding crop to Sarah." John shook his head.

"knew it." the doctor bit on the words. "tea?" he questioned stomping back in the kitchen before the detective had time to answer.

"please" Getting up from this thinking position and following his housemate into the kitchen Sherlock considered John curiously. John's back was to him as he was slowly filling the kettle with water. Sherlocks eyes flicked down to Johns beautiful denim clad arse for a brief second. He measured every contour, considered each muscle and tendon. Then he imagined what it would feel like if he walked up behind John now and pressed in close to him. breathe in the scent that would be pure John. Feel the mans heat pass into his body. Feel the doctor shudder... Teeth on his ear... Mmmm.

Want.

"John" Sherlock rumbled, chasing his fantasy away swiftly. "if you ever need to talk to me I'm always at your disposal" John turned, the kettle in his hand. He ran the other across his face as his eyes met Sherlocks. They were so blue, Sherlock loved them.

"Sherlock, don't take this the wrong way..." John began " it's not that I don't appreciate the offer but I really don't think you'd get it." he gave an apologetic little smile and plugged the kettle in before turning his eyes back to the detectives. Sherlock smiled a little.

"maybe not" he agreed "but maybe I don't need to" he added, his brilliant steely eyes looking into John's meaningfully.

"what do you mean?" John asked, a little nervously in Sherlocks opinion, he always got like that when Sherlock tried to look into him. Duly noted and filed away in head for future reference.

"Using my skills John I have observed that when people have problems they have no desire to 'talk about it' they actually do. They want to talk and they want someone to listen, I can do that even if I can't furnish you with advice. It's like when I am talking to you, or the skull. I don't need an answer, but you... Actually forget the skull, he's a poor substitute John... you help me by listening. I don't need for you to talk because after a while everything falls into place. It's the least I can do John. After all you do a great deal more for me." John gaped at him slightly, and then gave a broad grin.

"thanks" he said, slightly shyly Sherlock thought. "maybe later we can..um.. talk..." he trailed off. Sherlock shrugged and turned, feigning disinterest.

"the offers always open..." he mumbled to the surprised doctor.


	2. Chapter 2

Hello.

Thank you all that have faved and followed and commented. I love you all. This is a shorter part, more tomorrow if your very very good.

Belong - Part Two

"I'm in my room it's a typical tuesday night, I'm listening to the kinda music she doesn't like and she'll never know your story like I do"

John had gone out. Sarah had called back it seemed, a little more responsive to Johns apologies this time presumably, and John had skipped off happily out of the flat with a

"don't wait up." Sherlock had nodded, seeming to ignore the doctor, seemingly deep in thought. But as the front door slammed, in a hideously jovial fashion, a snarl was emitted from deep within the detectives throat and he was up. He followed Johns path away from the flat from the window and then Sherlock was pacing the floor. His mind was unsettled and distressed. Logic was wearing thin, in fact it had all but vanished. What was it with this Sarah woman? Sherlock knew that he was difficult to live with but he would never try to change John! John was perfect just as he was. This Sarah woman wanted him to be something different. She didn't like that John was Sherlocks friend. Sherlock knew the woman didn't like John going on cases with him. She was always ringing him up, telling him to be careful. Sherlock had figured out that Sarah had a problem with him because he indulged Johns secret need for excitement. John needed the rush the same way the detective did. Sarah wanted John to be steady and calm and... and leave Sherlock behind? There would never be another like John. Sherlock knew he would only ever trust John, feel this way about anyone. Sarah would never understand John the way he needed to be understood. No one but Sherlock (and maybe Mycroft) would ever understand, or begin to comprehend that John craved the excitement of the battle field. Running beside John, pulse up, blood high, Sherlock could practically smell the adrenalin and testosterone the man produced in the moments of chase. He thrived on it. He craved it. But he'd never admit it because John was a kitten otherwise. Probably appalled by his own addiction to danger, to blood, to death... To Sherlock? They were indeed the same. Maybe that was Sarah's problem. She knew that John was addicted. Maybe she was trying to cure him.

"uh" Sherlocks whole body gave a violent shudder as he thought of Sarah touching the doctor. His doctor. His blogger. His John.

HIS.

Breathing becoming erratic. Must calm down. Breathe deeply. Sherlock sat down. Eyes closed. Lips parted. Hands shaking.

Calm.

Sherlock attempted to work out what it was that Sarah had that he didn't. Obviously she was a woman. John claimed he wasn't gay, but the detective had never seen sexuality in those terms. He had never considered it until recently. In his opinion it was mutable. Changeable. Why did it matter at all? Surely it was about the feelings between people, not about what their physical appearance and parts were? In his humble (and slightly arrogant) opinion Sherlock considered his physical appearance to be above Sarah's, and thought his parts would probably fit against Johns far better than hers. He felt so... Frustrated.

In an attempt to calm his ragged nerves the detective swept his violin up and began playing. A sad melody of undistinguished origin. Putting every feeling he had into the soaring tune.

Feelings.

Sherlock has feelings. But he locked them down, locked them up in the furthest part of his mind. They played no useful part in what he did. Why entertain them? Until the day he realized. A key had been turned, had unlocked that dark door, that dark prison in which he had placed his heart. John.

The violin continued its sad calling out into the dark London night. Across the city. Maybe if he played for long enough John would hear the sadness wrapping about Sherlock, curling into the flat and out into the dark places of the city. Maybe then he would come home. And stay forever...


	3. Chapter 3

Thankyou for your comments. You have been good, so as promised I'm posting tonight.

Hope you enjoy.

Belong - Part three.

"cos she wears short skirts, I wear t-shirts, she's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers. Waiting for the day when you wake up and find that what your looking for has been here the whole time"

Sherlock had finally slunk off to his room around 3.30 in the morning, coming to the logical conclusion that John was not coming back, nor could the doctor hear his song. Sleep did not come easy, but then it never did these days. When he finally slept the dreams came. Something about John. Something about the kitchen. John fully clothed apart from where his jeans and pants had been ripped down to his knees. Sherlock pressed tightly against John who was leaning over the sink, his hands gripping onto the taps tightly while Sherlocks hands gripped at his hips roughly. He smelt of sex, of desire and he was groaning deliciously in his throat as Sherlock dug his nails into that tender skin, bruising, gripping, claiming. His teeth on Johns ear as he thrust his cock deep into Johns arse. Sherlock shagging John Watson into oblivion.

Oh God John, yes.

John calling his name, loud, louder. Begging him, wanting him, grinding against him, asking him for more.

Oh yes John yes... John shouting louder and louder and...

"Sherlock! Why the fuck is there a head in the WASHING machine?" Sherlock woke with a start. Blinked twice at the brightness of the morning. John..? Where was..?

"Sherlock! Wake up and explain to me why there's a head in the washing machine!" there was a furious knocking at the detectives bedroom door. Sherlock shook his head and the dream away with a groan. Damn. He'd forgotten about the head.

Rolling out of bed he quickly pulled his robe on and slunk somewhat guiltily out into the living room. John had that irate look in his eyes. He was pacing, obviously not long in. Probably nipped home from Sarah's to change before he went to work. Swinging about he glared furiously at the still sleepy Sherlock. Bit not good. Sherlock waited for the verbal onslaught. The doctor opened his mouth to say something but the words seemed to catch in his throat as his eyes swept the detectives thin frame. Then his eyebrows raised, but not in question, in surprise. He stuttered and then blushed. All the fight, all the anger visibly drained out of him. All he could do for a moment was stare and then he turned away quickly. Sherlock paused, puzzled by the doctors reaction.

"John?" he questioned. The doctor threw him a look from over his shoulder. Sherlock followed Johns very quick gaze down from his face to his crotch.

Oh.

Sherlock blinked twice. He had an erection. That hadn't happened for a long time. God, that dream... Ah.

Completely unabashed Sherlock pottered over to the sofa and lay down. "Sorry about the head." he yawned "experiment. Was reading about the shrinking heads, had an idea. No clue if it worked. Forgot it was in there. Did it work John?" John turned, averting his eyes uncomfortably.

"Sherlock.. You are aware that you have.." he paused, Sherlock quirked an eyebrow in pretend innocence. He'd make John say it. It would be a suitable punishment for him trotting off so merrily last night. John cleared his throat. "you do realize you have.. um.. an erection Sherlock?" Sherlock filed the sound and expressions of Johns voice away for later study and grinned lazily. He glanced down.

"It would appear so John. Surprising though. I haven't woken up like this since I passed through puberty. Does it bother you?" Johns eyebrows raised again.

"does it bother me...?" there was a slightly hysterical tilt to Johns tone which Sherlock couldn't decide to be from humor or stress "Well now I come to think about it.. Yes it does really!" Sherlock stretched and made a non-committal noise.

"well, you did wake me up John. These things happen. A chemical reaction, subconscious stimulus..." the detective trailed off, cheerfully watching John blush at the low seductive note he ended on.

Want.

The doctor scrubbed a hand through the hair at the back of his neck and rolled his eyes despairingly.

"Fucking sociopaths.." he mumbled. Sherlock sat up.

"What do you want me to say John? I'm not bothered, I don't know why you're getting so flustered by this."

"fluster.. God Sherlock just go take care of it!" Sherlock grinned

"here?" the noise that left Johns throat was so comical the detective found he couldn't help but laugh... In fact he couldn't sit up he was laughing so hard. And then, after a moments glaring, John was laughing too and making tea and swearing that one day Sherlock would be the death of him. But as Sherlock watched John bend over the sink to fill the kettle he found that maybe it would take more than his own hand, or three patches, to take care of this problem.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry, taken ages with this. Promise more soon. :)

Belong - Part 4.

"can't you see that I'm the one who understands you. Been here all along so why can't you see. You belong with me. You belong with me."

They were running. A street gang was on their tail, tempers hot and guns blazing. Sherlock had a steady lead while John dragged a little behind chasing the detectives coat tails.

"S.. Sherlock! Wait!" John panted.

John.

Sherlock looked about himself quickly, the last thing he wanted was to do was endanger John. After a quick mapping out of the area he grabbed hold of Johns wrist and pulled him off course into a dark side alley.

"Shhhh" the detective bid his friend, pressing his fingers against Johns lips as he peaked around the corner. The men were coming their way.

"Come on John!" the detective whispered, grabbed Johns hand without a thought and pulling him onward down the narrow alleyway, avoiding bins and the like. The detective spotted a doorway, pushing John ahead of him he pushed the doctor into the doorway and against the door. There was a soft "oof" and then John was silenced as Sherlocks coat wrapped softly about the two of them and Sherlock pressed tight against the doctor. Johns breathing was rough, his body warm against the detectives, his hand still holding on to the detectives tightly. Sherlock pressed closer still, forcing the two of them into the shadows together as fast footfalls approached. Each man held his breath and stilled. The feet ran past them, a beat passed silently and then each man let out the breaths they were holding. Johns head bumped against Sherlocks shoulder in relief. Sherlock didn't move, he took the moment, the feel of John so close to him. Johns hand still tightly wrapped in his, the scent of his hair, the adrynilyn. So much to process.

As breathing stilled, mingling together, John lifted his head his eyes the only thing visible in the pitch blackness.

"it's a good Job you've got that damn coat... I thought we were in trouble there." the doctor said, his voice low. Sherlock chuckled.

"After all you have said about it John Watson...You're glad of it now." Johns hot breath skimmed the detectives face causing a slight shiver.

"It's like bloody batmans cape!" John giggled quietly.

"That makes you Robin remember..." the detective warned jokingly "maybe i'll get you costume to wear..."

"Always knew you had a thing for dressing up" John teased, laughter bubbling in his voice "well leave me out of it." Sherlock smiled and lowered his his head so his eyes could meet Johns. The army doctors eyes shone with excitement, the thrill of being chased, the feel of the blood rushing through him. He was high on it. Sherlock lived for these moments, seeing John like this... It was beautiful. John bit his lip.

"Have they gone?" he whispered. Reluctantly pulling his gaze from Johns face Sherlocks peeked over his high drawn up collar and surveyed the alley. In a moment of weakness he murmured;

"they could come back" John reflectively stiffened his posture against the detective and Sherlock glanced back at his shorter companion.

"Should we make a run for it?" the doctor suggested. Sherlock sighed inwardly. He was enjoying John too much, but who was he kidding? Only himself. Reluctantly he pulled back and allowed John his freedom.

John gave him a bemused look as he stepped out of the doorway,

"Sherlock, you do know you're holding my hand?" the detective shot John a friendly crinkled grin.

"Yes" came the honest reply "I would say that's obvious" John blinked once, twice and then looked at their hands. Sherlock glanced down. "You're holding my hand too John." the detective stated, trying to keep the husky sound from his voice. John looked up and his eyes caught Sherlocks... for a split second Sherlock thought he saw something other than confusion written in them, a flash, and then it was gone. Sherlock could almost feel the heat rise into Johns face and he was certain even in the pitch darkness that he was blushing. The doctor quickly pulled his eyes away and mumbled,

"Yes.. Erm.. Sorry." John went to pull his hand from Sherlocks but the detectives grip tightened.

"it's okay John" he whispered. John blinked but didn't pull away, instead he just looked up into the detectives eyes and grinned.

"people will talk you know." John said, his heart not really in his protest.

"When do they not?" Sherlock grinned, tugging John onward to run away with him into the night.


End file.
